The Choker

He clasped a choker

around my neck

in a dark restaurant.

A leather symbol 

of the words he whispered:

I own you.

In the light of day

I did not dare

wear it.

Collecting dust,

I learned I was too eager

to be claimed.

The pleasure was his alone.

I learned this

by how quickly it ended.

Buried in a drawer 

after I became a mother, 

belonging now to three

was far too much.

He’s become impatient—

quick to yell.

And the children, demanding

more than I can give.

I wear a simple plastic cord

with the charm of a cat,

from another man.

He’ll never know

I’ve switched allegiance.